Memoirs of Love
by Roseofluna
Summary: Basically, Christine and Erik both have younger siblings in their early teens . Mostly OC/OC. I'm very self conscious about this, because it is my first real fanfic. I may not update too often, because I am constantly busy with school.
1. The Rehearsal of Hannibal

((Big fat author's note: Welcome to my fanfic. I would like to first of all advise you that I am VERY, VERY, VERY self-conscious about posting this fanfic. It's my first real fanfic. Second of all, I, Roseofluna, am only 13 years old. I'm still developing my writing skills! There are some great fanfics out there, and this probably isn't one of them. Also, I realize that Chapter 1 is exactly like the movie, just deal with it. The other chapters are written completely by me. Thanks for reading. ~Roseofluna))

Chapter 1

The Opera Populaire was abuzz one sunny morning in Paris. It seemed that everybody and everything was abuzz, as if anticipating some great figure to step through the doors at any moment. Every person in the opera house seemed to be bustling with news and gossip.

There had been rumors of Monsieur Lefevre retiring, rumors of a new patron, rumors including everyone and everything, and best of all, rumors of the Opera Ghost. Everybody loved to hear the stories of the Opera Ghost. He was a figure that everyone had a silent respect for. The stories were kept quiet from Mme. Giry, for she would swear it off and tell them that the Opera Ghost hated to be talked about, and that he will burn you with the heat of his eyes! Nobody had ever really seen him though. If they had, they never told anyone.

It was this morning, at the practice session of "Hannibal" that two rumors would be confirmed.

Every actor and actress, every ballerina, every singer, rushed down to the stage or to their spots for rehearsal. On cue, Signora Guddicelli began singing while holding a prop of a head,

"This trophy from our saviors, from out sa-a-aviors! From the enslaving force of Rome!"

Some winced at the notes she sung, some just tuned it out of their heads. Everyone was relieved, though, when she threw the prop to the side, and everyone began to sing the chorus while marching. Between verses, Madame Carlotta would go to her little pet dog while complaining of little things, such as her dress being too long.

Just as Signor Piangi finished his verse, Monsieur Lefevre walked through the stage with two men. He seemed to be giving them a tour.

He said to them, "Rehearsals are under way for a new production of Chalumeau's Hannibal."

The maestro shouted, "Monsieur Lefevre, I am rehearsing!" but was interrupted by Lefevre.

"Monsieur Reyer, Madame Giry, ladies and gentlemen, please, if I could have your attention?"

Everybody looked up to see what Monsieur Lefevre had to say. He was the owner of the Opera Populaire, after all.

"As you know, there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true, and it is my pleasure to introduce you to the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire. Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre."

Some were surprised, some were just expecting it.

Monsieur Andre smiled brightly and said, "We are deeply honored to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny." He added quietly, "I still can't believe we managed to get him. It's such a coup for us."

With that, a young man stepped forth. He was a bit on the tall side, with slightly longer hair than most thought acceptable of men. He had bright, smiling features that could light up the room.

I had been standing with my sister, Christine, her close friend Meg, and the rest of the ballerinas while this was happening.

Christine said under her breath, "It's Raoul." Meg and I looked at her curiously. "Before Father died, at the house by the sea…I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts. He called me Little Lotte. Oh Alina, do you remember him?"

A memory, fuzzy on the edges, came to my mind. I saw a glorious spring meadow overlooking the ocean. Christine and I sat with Father and a young boy…Father was telling a story…I couldn't remember it at the time, but I was sure it was about the Angel of Music and Little Lotte. He told us those stories many times over the years, right up until his death.

"I have a scarce memory, Christine, of a little boy who listened to Father's stories with us. Was that Raoul?" I questioned.

"Yes, it was." Christine answered simply.

Meg had been staring off after Raoul, obviously infatuated. "Christine, he's so handsome!" She said.

The Vicomte had spoken to the crowd, and he met the main stars of the Opera. He told the new managers, "I believe I'm interrupting the rehearsal. I will be here this evening to share your great triumph. My apologies." And he left, and the rehearsal resumed. We took our places on the stage, practicing for that night's show of Hannibal. I paid little attention to the new managers, making sure I had my part right. I wasn't the most graceful girl, and I needed all my attention in one place. However, I did manage to pick up part of their conversation with Mme. Giry.

One of them pointed out Christine, "That exceptional beauty over there. No relation to that blonde angel there, I trust?"

Mme Giry replied, "Christine Daae. Promising, talent, Monsieur Firmin."

Monsieur Andre said, "Daae, did you say? No relation to the famous Swedish violinist?"

"His oldest daughter. Her sister is over that way," Mme. Giry pointed to me. "They were orphaned when Christine was seven, Alina three, when they came to live and train in the ballet dormitories."

"Orphans, you say?" Monsieur Firmin questioned.

"I think of them as daughters also. Now gentlemen, if you would kindly stand to one side."

That is when the ballerinas went offstage for the moment, and the chorus came back in.

At the end of the rehearsal, Carlotta screeched, "All they want is the dancing!"

She came up to the managers, "Aha, allora, allora, allora. I hope the Vicomte is as excited by dancing girls as your new managers, because I will not be singing!" And she stormed off the stage.

It was a pitiful sight, the diva yelling in Italian and pushing anyone in her path, with the managers groveling after her.

Monsieur Andre tried to reason, "Monsieur Reyer, isn't there a rather marvelous aria for Elissa in Act 3 of Hannibal? Perhaps the signora—"

He was cut off by Carlotta exclaiming, "Yes, yes! Ma no! Because I have not my costume for act 3, because somebody not finish it!" She put emphasis on the last few words. "And I hate my hat!" She screeched, though with her accent it sounded as though she said that she had eaten her hat. I stifled a giggle while Christine looked at me disapprovingly.

Monsieur Firmin said, "Signora, as a personal favor, would you oblige us with a private rendition? Unless, of course, Monsieur Reyer objects."

"No, aspetta aspetta." She cried. "Well, if my managers command…Monsieur Reyer?"

He answered, "If my diva commands." To which Carlotta quickly said, "Yes, I do." And walked quickly to the front of the stage.


	2. The Diva Leaves

Chapter 2

From there, Carlotta began singing. Her voice did not seem to fit the song. Some spirit must have agreed with me, for soon a prop fell and hit her very hard, scaring her. She began screaming and cursing, while Mme. Giry went to inspect where it had fallen from. She came back with a letter.

"I have a message, sirs, from the Opera Ghost," Mme. Giry began.

"Opera Ghost?" Monsieur Firmin questioned, raising one eyebrow in a ridiculous manner.

"Yes, monsieur, the Opera Ghost. He haunts the opera, as his name suggests." Mme. Giry said, slightly mocking Firmin. She opened the mysterious letter, and skimmed over the letter, "He would like to welcome you to his opera house. He has only two requests: that you continue to keep box five empty for his use, and he also reminds you that his salary is due." The ballet mistress said, handing the letter to Firmin.

Andre mumbled something about the ghost's remark of it being "_his_ opera house" while Firmin looked over the letter. "His salary…of twenty-thousand francs?!" He said loudly.

Mme. Giry nodded and said, "Perhaps you can afford to give more, with the Vicomte de Chagny as your patron?"

The managers said absolutely nothing in response. Instead, they walked over to Carlotta. Andre began, "Signora, these things do happen—" when he was cut off by the angry diva.

"For the past three years, these things do happen! You did not even try to stop them from happening!" She screamed at the managers, her heavy headdress bobbing. She walked quickly to the backstage area of the opera house without a word.

Monsieur Lefevre said quickly, "Well, gentlemen, if you should need me, I will be in Australia. _Bon voyage_!" as he left.

Monsieur Firmin said loudly, "We shall have to refund a full house, Andre!" He sounded devastated.

Nobody seemed to have a single word to say. Against my nature, I said loudly to cover up the confusion, "Christine Daae could sing it, sir!"

The noise ceased, and all eyes turned to me. I felt blood rush to my face as I looked at my feet to avoid the gazes.

Monsieur Andre broke the silence and said harshly, "A chorus girl? Ridiculous!"

Mme. Giry stepped in and said, "She has been taking lessons from a great teacher. Please, take my word for it monsieur. Do you see anyone else who is offering to sing?"

Obviously startled, Andre replied, "No, I do not. Please, Mademoiselle." He motioned Christine to the front of the stage. She walked cautiously, as Monsieur Reyer tapped his baton on a music stand.

"From the beginning of the aria, please mademoiselle." The piano began playing the music to the song. Christine sang through the song beautifully, to the surprise of everybody listening. Needless to say, she sang as Elissa that night.


	3. Has Christine Gone Mad?

Chapter 3

Later that night, after the gala, Christine was nowhere to be found. I knew exactly where she would be. Silently, I tiptoed up the steps to the small chapel in the southern wing of the opera house. I called for Christine quietly, as if not to disturb the spirits resting there.

Just as I expected, Christine was kneeling on the floor of the chapel, lighting a candle for our father.

"Christine…Your performance was perfect! I wish I knew who has been giving you singing lessons all this time." I said endearingly.

Christine looked up at the candle that was lit by a picture of Bustave Daae. I knelt down next to her and awaited her answer.

"Alina…Ever since Madame Giry was kind enough to bring us here after Father died, I have been hearing a voice from above. I was sure you had heard the voice too, but you never mentioned it. You see, as Father lay dying, he told me he would send us the Angel of Music. Surely you remember the stories he told about Little Lotte and her angel?" Christine finally responded.

I nodded and looked back on the very small memories that I still had of Father. For a few seconds, I believed Christine had gone completely mad! There cannot possibly be an "angel of music". It was only a story, after all.

"Christine, are you sure you were not merely dreaming? Stories like that do not come true. It really is not like you to believe in fables like this." I said, worried. She seemed disappointed in my response. I stood up and held out my hand to assist her. She couldn't possibly have stood up in that large of a dress.

We started walking to her dressing room, while still trying to avoid the crowds likely crowding her door. I could see her trembling slightly, and her skin was ghost-white. I looked at her curiously.

"Alina, I know you don't believe in the Angel of Music, but I feel him here. It scares me." Christine whispered to me shakily.

I did not know what to say, so I grabbed her arm lightly and led her to her dressing room more quickly.


	4. The Vicomte Visits

Chapter 4

Once at her dressing room, we ignored the obnoxiously loud crowd and went inside. I looked over to Christine and said, "My goodness, you sure are in high demand tonight. Well then, let's get you out of that costume and into something more comfortable."

She sat down at the vanity, holding a rose with a black ribbon she had picked up.

I grabbed a hairbrush and gently untangled some small knots in her hair. Trying to conjure a small conversation, I said quietly, "It looks like you have an admirer…Or a few hundred. So, tell me about the Angel of Music you spoke of earlier. What does he look like?"

Christine seemed slightly dazed, but she replied, "Oh, I have never seen him. He refuses to show himself to me."

Just then, the door opened. I expected some lunatic to walk in and shower Christine with gifts. However, it was the Vicomte de Chagny. I continued to untangle small parts of Christine's very curly nut-brown hair. Raoul could be of no harm to her.

Closing the door behind him, Raoul recited, "Little Lotte let her mind wander…" and Christine smiled at him. He continued, "Little Lotte thought, 'Am I fonder of dolls, goblins, or shoes? Or perhaps riddles or frocks?'" I had no doubt this was one of Father's stories that he remembered.

He set down a bouquet of flowers on a table, and Christine said dreamily, "Ah, Raoul. Those picnics in the attic…Father playing the violin as we read aloud dark stories of the north…"

Beaming, Raoul grinned and continued where he had left off, "'Or maybe even chocolates?'"

Christine picked up, "'No,' Lotte said. 'What I love best is when I am asleep in my bed and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!'" She tugged at the ribbon on the rose she still held and said, "I was afraid you wouldn't remember me."

Raoul laughed and replied, "Afraid I wouldn't remember you! Why, I looked all over France for you and Alina after I heard that your father had died!"

Christine seemed pleasantly surprised. "Well, you've found us now." She remarked.

Raoul said very politely, "Well, I really would love if you and Alina would accompany me to supper tonight."

Smiling, Christine nodded. "I will, but I'm not sure about Alina." She paused. "What do you say, Alina?"

In a respectful tone, I replied, "I am sorry, but I am _très fatigue _tonight. I will be staying in, if you won't mind."

Raoul nodded. "I will not keep Christine out late, then." He turned to Christine. "And you…I will order my carriage. You have two minutes to get ready." With that, he left.


	5. I Must Be Dreaming

Chapter 5

Christine got dressed and ready for supper just in time for Raoul to knock on the door. I waved as the two closed the door behind them.

I turned around and decided to do some cleaning. The whole room was littered with gifts to Christine for her wonderful performance. I put all the gifts into one corner of the room. I was surprised that I could finally see the floor!

I grew tired and lay lazily on the large, cushioned sofa. My eyes kept returning to the mirror on the back wall. There was something off about it. It seemed to have eyes that bore through me longingly. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, I heard a voice.

The voice, like velvet wrapped with silk, said, "Precious little jewel, awaken. Come and see your angel." The voice, one obviously of a male, called to me. Even in my mind I heard him, speaking my name slowly, each syllable accentuated beautifully.

I was petrified. Christine had not been lying that there was a voice of an angel. I sat up slowly, to see nobody in the room. I was alone, but I still heard the voice.

"Alina…Please, take look at your face in the mirror." I stood and walked cautiously to the mirror. I felt like there were eyes all around me, seeing down to my very soul. "I beg you, do not be afraid. I am your _ange de la musique_. Please, look into the mirror. I am there, inside!"

Either I was going mad, or I was simply dreaming. I hoped it was only the latter. Slowly materializing before my eyes, in the mirror, was a man! Likely not much older than myself, though. Terrified, I stood still as stone and watched the angel come into view. Impossibly dark hair was neatly in place on top of the head. Next, I saw beautiful clothing, probably very expensive with elaborate designs. The colors faded into vision…There weren't many, for the clothes this figure donned were predominately black. Yellow threads in elaborate patterns in some parts, red in others. A white mask covered part of the angel's face. I just watched, expressionless, as finally a black, swirling cape materialized.

Although alarm bells were ringing in my head, they seemed to be drowned out by the angel's voice, calling my name.

Somehow, the glass of the mirror was no longer in existence, and the angel held out a black-gloved hand to me. Not knowing what else I could do, I took the angel's hand.


	6. Lair of the Angel

Chapter 6

As the angel began leading me down a candle-lit hallway, I really did believe I was dreaming. I was probably still laying on the couch in the dressing room, and Christine would wake me after she returned from supper.

Suddenly, a command burst into my mind, with passion practically dripping from its edges. "Sing, my angel of music." Was all the order said.

I panicked. I was definitely not a singer. I had never tried to sing one single time in my life. However, I knew I must listen to the angel.

Even to this day, I do not know what I sang. A melody along with lyrics was streaming through my head. I had never heard it before. I began to sing the song, to the absolute delight of my angel. I was absolutely sure I was dreaming, because I could hardly recognize my own voice! It sounded absolutely beautiful, reminding me of a sweet, rich and decadent marron glacé.

The angel and I were making the trek down to—wherever we were going. He and I took turns singing, and even sang a duet at one point. The whole time, he never let go of my hand. I was glad, because our surroundings were cold, damp, and dark. He gave me a strange sense of security.

When we encountered a lake that seemed to stretch on forever, the angel scooped me up into his arms and set me in a small boat. He stood on the back of the boat to direct it. I kept singing to hide my fear.

At one point I almost burst into tears, because the boat went through a very dark canal. I always had an irrational fear of the dark. The angel must have sensed my fear, however, for he stopped directing the boat for a few moments to comfort me. I could see very little, but I could feel his hands on mine, and I was soon soothed enough to continue the journey.

Our destination was hardly lighter than the dark canal, but I was able to see enough to not be as afraid. The angel sweeped me up into his arms again and sat me down on what looked like a throne of some sort. I traced the delicate pattern on the armrests of the chair.

The angel turned to me and stated, "Alina, I have brought you here. This is my realm, where music thrives. I know that you have great potential as a singer. You could bring all of Paris to its knees with your voice alone."

Surprised and flattered, I admitted, "I have never tried to sing until tonight."

"And what a shame that is!" The angel told me. "Not only do you have a heavenly voice, but you are very beautiful too." He kneeled in front of me, and stroked my face.

I was sure I was blushing very heavily.

_Feeling like this is not possible in dreams… _I thought.

Suddenly, the angel's voice was back in my mind, startling me. "_That is because you are not dreaming._"

"I'm…not dreaming?" I said out loud. I probably sounded like a fool!

The angel merely laughed slightly, making me blush more. He took his hand away from my face, and stood slowly. He began to sing to me, a love song about the "music of the night". As he moved away, I stood and followed. Some invisible force was pulling me towards him.

At one point in his lament, the angel pulled me close, and I was sure I was under some sort of spell. I was still in shock that this wasn't a dream. By the end of the ballad of the angel, we were very close, our lips only inches away. He pulled me into a long, sweet kiss. It seemed as though the world around us melted away, and nothing mattered except each other.

Soon after the kiss, I felt faint, let myself give into the darkness, and drifted off.


	7. Je suis l'imperfection

Chapter 7

I awoke to find myself in a small bed with my angel sitting a few feet away. He seemed troubled, but relieved when I opened my eyes. I started remembering all of the previous night's events. Suddenly, I was very curious. Before that moment, I hadn't once glanced at the white half-mask the angel was wearing. It sparked my interest.

I sat up in the bed, and asked my angel, "If you wouldn't mind, I am very curious about that mask you are wearing…I would like to see your whole face."

He broke my gaze and said harshly, "No. You would be horrified if you saw my face."

Hurt, I teared up. "Well, I'm sure that I wouldn't. I have lived my whole life being imperfect, and I've learned to see past it. Please, just let me see. Nothing can damage my love for you."

The angel was obviously affected by my last statement. He nodded, and slowly brought his hand to his mask. Ever so lightly, he removed the mask.

I cannot explain, even to this day, the horror that is his face. Some horrible accident must have occurred to do this to him. I showed none of my sheer terror, for I would never hurt my angel. (Although, obviously, he was not a real angel. I still thought of him this way, however.) Instead, I kissed him. He seemed very surprised at my action.

After I pulled away from the kiss, he almost seemed to be on the brink of crying.

I told my angel, "Do you see? I am not afraid." After a moment, he seemed to realize something, and he quickly stood up.

"Come, we must return you to the opera house. Your sister is probably worried sick." He said, holding out his hand to me. I grabbed his hand and used it for support in standing up. He was right, Christine was probably worried. But how did he know about Christine? And I really did not want to leave.

I begged and pleaded to stay, but nothing swayed him. He scooped me up into his arms, and I began to cry as a last resort.

The angel wiped away a few of the tears, and did everything in his power to comfort me. "Oh Alina…" He said. "You will understand in time. I will visit you again tonight. I promise. Oh, Alina…Please, do stop crying."

I ceased the tears, and said, "I will go under two conditions. I want to know your name, and I also want you to tell me how to get a hold of you if I ever need you."

He nodded. "First of all, my name is Alexandre. Secondly, if you should ever need me, please, do not hesitate to return the way I will show you." He said while he set me back on the ground.

From there, we returned to the opera house. Alexandre showed me a way by which I could get to his realm from a door in the western wing of the opera house. I kissed him goodbye, and went to find Christine.


	8. Deux anges?

Chapter 8

From darkness, I stepped into the golden opera house, the only home I knew. I could practically feel a grand overture floating in the air around me, a sort of theme for the entire theatre.

Still in my costume from the previous night's performance, I scurried to the ballet dormitories. My ballet slippers helped in not being detected while walking up the stairs.

I assumed that all the other ballerinas were practicing, because Mme. Giry was likely unhappy about the dancing in _Hannibal_ last night. Why, even I thought it was a lamentable mess!

Carefully, I opened the door to the large bedroom where all the ballerinas slept. To my surprise, there was one other girl in the room. Meg Giry was sitting on her bed, obviously troubled. She hadn't noticed me walk in the room, so I tiptoed over to her and tapped her shoulder lightly.

Meg gasped and turned her head to me. "Alina! Where have you been? I can't find Christine…I was so worried when I noticed that you were missing too!" She poured out. Afterwards, she looked at me curiously.

My mind reeling, I said very slowly, "Well, I haven't seen her since she left for supper with the Vicomte de Chagny…" I paused, choosing my words cautiously. "…She couldn't possibly still be with the Vicomte. Have you asked your mother if she has seen Christine?"

My words seemed to wind her up tighter than a spring. She said, "I haven't even talked to my mother today…I know she is scolding the other ballerinas right now. My hope is that she will not find us here."

Suddenly, the door opened and Mme. Giry herself walked in gracefully, with Christine trailing behind. Christine seemed very shaken up about something. Now was not the time to ask, however.

Mme. Giry, however, looked extremely angry. Meg and I braced ourselves for a very long and painful scolding. She began, "I refuse to waste my time lecturing you two about where you should be right now, because I know that you know."

We just looked at her, doe-eyed, as she finished, "Now, are you two ballerinas, or are you not? You will practice your routines with the other girls at once!"

My eyes were watery as Meg and I scampered down the stairs, two at a time, and joined the other girls in rehearsal. I had never been able to bear being scolded. However, I choked the tears back and practiced my dancing.

We all pirouetted and twirled as we were so used to. I was one of the few that could perform perfectly with my eyes closed from so much practice. The majority, however, tripped and fell over each other. It truly was a disaster.

After hours of perfecting every detail, Mme. Giry finally let us leave. All of us, our feet aching and our hearts racing, migrated upstairs to the dormitories, where more than half of the ballerinas fell asleep as soon as their tired heads hit their pillows.

Instead of giving in to the warm comfort I knew sleeping would provide, I sat next to Christine. She didn't seem as ghost-white and petrified as before, so I decided to talk to her. Nobody would be able to overhear the conversation, because the half of the ballerinas who weren't asleep were all talking, gossiping, and laughing.

It was then that I realized how eager I was to tell Christine about the time while I was gone. I began, "Christine…When you were talking about the _ange de la musique _last night…I didn't believe you. Truthfully, I thought you had gone mad! But after you left for supper, I heard and saw my angel of music. I was absolutely sure I was dreaming, but it was all too real to be a dream!"

She seemed to have an alarming connection with what I had said. She looked like she was about to cry. "Oh Alina, the same thing happened to me when I came back from supper. But I saw my angel's face…It was so distorted and deformed…Why, it was hardly a face!" She paused as a few tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. "I do sincerely hope your angel is not the same way…" She said, her voice a wavering whisper.

Not knowing what to say once again, I hugged Christine. Surely our angels were different beings…They had to be. Trying to pump more information from her, I asked, "Does your angel have a name?"

Christine nodded and said so quietly it almost wasn't audible, "Yes, he does. His name is Erik."

My suspicions were correct. Our angels were different entities. Changing the subject, I asked, "Have you seen the cast list for _Il Muto_? I didn't get to peek at it because of the crowds around it."

Christine nodded again. "Yes, I did get to see it. I was cast as the pageboy, a silent and humiliating role. But I didn't see your name anywhere. Not even in the list of ballerinas!"

I was shocked. Surely some mistake had been made. I kept quiet and tapped my fingers on my crossed arms.

Christine put her hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm sure you aren't happy. You should go to sleep; it's getting late." She paused for a moment. "Oh, and there is one more thing you should know. Madame Giry knows about the angels of music. I don't know how far her knowledge extends, but she does know. You should talk to her sometime."

I nodded slowly, stood up, walked over to my bed, and went to sleep.


	9. Another Dream, Another Day

Chapter 10

((Author's Note: Dah! I'm sorry the chapter numbers are messed up! I'm adding a new chapter to the middle of the story at the request of a reviewer, and I'm confused now. Very, very confused. Anyway, enjoy this new chapter in the meantime while I sort all this out! By the way, if you review my story, I will reply to it. I love getting suggestions from readers!))

That night, I dreamed up a beautiful world. A world of rich color, texture, and emotion. Nothing could compare to it and the music that seemed to rest in the thick air. It seemed as if I could reach out and grab it!

Dancing about in the large, dimly lit room, I could feel eyes on me. I stopped and looked about. All I could see was the red velvet decorations around me.

I thought to myself, "_It's only a trick! The atmosphere!_" and continued my dance to the alluring music. The music was at an _allegro…_Then a sudden _ritenuto…smorzando…tacet. _At a standstill, I looked up and around. I had not even given a thought as to where the wonderful music had been coming from! I was alone in the room, so there was no masterful musician with me…

The boring of those eyes through me grew stronger and stronger until I couldn't bear it any longer! I sat in the corner of the room, and pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them tight. If this was a dream, I wanted to awaken as quickly as possible.

Just then, that voice I had heard before, the voice of my angel, broke through the darkness! He was singing the song he had sung to me the night before. I squinted in the dim light to find my angel. I stood and walked to the center of the room, careful not to trip on anything.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I gasped and turned around quickly, and was caught by Alexandre. I clasped onto him, which I could tell caught him off-guard. After a split second of hesitation, he held me close, and the world around us seemed to fall away. I felt more joy in that moment than I had ever dreamed of.

Breaking the silence, Alexandre cupped my face in his hands and asked, "You seem troubled. What has you worried, Alina?"

I hadn't realized how anxious I was until he mentioned it. All the nerves and nagging thoughts hit me at once. Breaking away from Alexandre, I sighed and sat in a red velvet chair.

"Well," I began, shifting uneasily, "When I returned to the opera house, Christine was missing. Madame Giry eventually brought her around, but she looked very scared. When I questioned her, she told me that she had been visited by an angel by the name of Erik…" I noticed Alexandre's expression change when I mentioned that name. "She was so disturbed, and she claims she saw his face, which was deformed…" I continued. "That is not all that is upsetting me. Christine claims my name is nowhere to be found on the cast for Il Muto. I'm not listed there as a ballerina as usual." After that statement, I choked up. Being forgotten was always a sensitive spot for me.

"Oh, Alina…" Alexandre said softly. He strode to my side and grasped my hand gently. "I do not know how to explain the situation with Erik to you yet. I will tell you another time. As for your dilemma with Il Muto…I believe it would be proper of me to ask you to accompany me to watch the opera. I know of a perfect viewing spot behind the upper dome of the theatre."

It was nice to know that he cared enough to comfort me, but patience was never my friend, and I was curious about Erik. I showed no signs of my curiosity, and instead replied to his invitation with, "_Je serais très heureux, ange._" ((Quick Author's Note: For those of you who don't know French, that means "I'd be delighted, angel."))

I said goodnight to my angel, and slipped back into consciousness at the break of dawn. A silent and peaceful bliss was upon me that morning.


	10. The Market and Il Muto

Chapter 11

I arose from my bed after a few other girls did, and those of us who were awake walked out to the market to buy breakfast. However, I took no part in their gossiping and giggling. I simply hugged my shawl closer to keep out the freezing Paris morning. Christine was still sleeping when we left, so I was silent.

At the market, I took extra time this morning to carefully examine what each vendor was selling. I hummed a little tune, something I had heard years ago. While I was busy looking at a shiny red apple, beautiful and perfect, a strange woman caught my hand. She was obviously some sort of gypsy, probably from the circus on the other side of town. She turned my hand over, looked at it closely, and told me, "You…you seek love and passion in this world…But deep inside you are envious…Envious of perfection…Am I correct?"

Startled, I nodded. "Yes, I do believe you are correct. Thank you, madam." I said softly, and handed her a small gold coin. Her eyes gleamed with joy, and I walked to the vendor to buy my breakfast.

"Cette pomme, s'il vous plait." I said, and handed the vendor the apple's equivalent of 5 francs.

Afterwards, I found the rest of the ballerinas, and we walked back to the opera house. I thought about what that gypsy woman had told me. The words kept repeating in my mind. It was true, I was jealous of perfection...And of Christine. I was born without a perfect thing about me, while Christine got everything; beauty, a divine voice, and the ability to learn anything. I only had average looks—bouncy red curls, blue-green eyes, and the complexion of a blushing ghost. Perhaps I did have a good voice, but I credit that solely to my angel. While Christine could learn anything in the world, I was as stubborn as a stump and nothing could make it through to my brain. What little I knew about the world came from books, ones that I learned to read when I was too small to learn to dance.

But at the end of it, I was still envious. By the time I was done thinking in my own world, I was with the other girls in the ballet dormitory. They were still chatting away. Everyone was awake by that time, and Christine came over and sat next to me on my bed.

"Good morning, Alina. You look troubled. What seems to be the matter?" She said with her seraphic voice. Apparently I constantly looked troubled to everyone around me.

I shook my head and said, "No, I have simply been deep in thought this morning…"

Christine nodded and walked back to her bed. A few minutes later, Madame Giry walked in. All of the girls were suddenly quiet, and Madame Giry said, "Come now, girls. Social time is over. We must rehearse for tonight. Come along."

Like sheep, the girls filed out of the room. When only Madame Giry and I were left in the room, she asked me, "He is expecting you tonight?". I nodded in response, and she left the room.

That night, I was dressed in my nicest clothing—a powder-pink dress that cut off right above my ankles. Christine had told me it belonged to our mother when she was my age. I never knew her, because she died not long after I was born. I walked quickly to the hidden door to the realm of my angel.

Quietly and discreetly, I opened the door and descended the winding staircase. When I reached the bottom, I couldn't help but hum a little song I had heard before. I looked around, and saw that everything was just as I remembered it. I began singing the song I had been humming before:

_"Your eyes see but my shadow_

_ My heart is overflowing_

_ There's so much you could come to love_

_ But you're content not knowing_

_ Tenderly, you could see_

_ My soul…"_

That was all of the song I knew. I kept repeating it until finally my angel appeared before me. I smiled slightly, and he held out his hand to me. Softly, I placed my hand in his, and together we walked up to the opera house.

The wing that the door was in was very deserted. Hardly anybody ever passed through it. It was rumored that the spirits of deceased stars of the opera haunted this area.

Silently, we walked hand-in-hand to the theatre. However, instead of going in normally, we ascended a staircase that brought us to the top of the theatre. Usually, there would be sceneshifters and such up there, but because _Il Muto_ didn't have many complicated tasks, most of the workers took the night off.

Alexandre opened a door, and we stepped into a small, strangely shaped room. There was a good-sized, circular window, the only source of light in the room. We sat before the window. It had a wonderful view of the stage, although it was quite high up. It saw perfectly over the massive chandelier that dangled from the center of the theatre's dome. Not long after we sat down, the curtain rose and the opera began.

Three things went wrong in the performance. The first happening was just plain strange. Madame Carlotta was singing her part as the Countess in the first act, when suddenly, a voice seemed to boom out of nowhere, "Did I not instruct that box 5 was to be kept empty?" The entire theatre turned to look at box 5. That was the ghost's box. The Vicomte de Changy was sitting in it, looking just as confused as the rest of the people in the building.

I could hear Christine yell, "It's him, I know it, it's him! The Phantom!" from her place on stage.

Madame Carlotta replied with, "Your part is silent, little toad!" And then smiled to the audience.

Suddenly, we heard the voice again. This time, it said, "A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad!"

Carlotta stamped her foot and pouted like a jealous child. She nodded to the music director, and picked up where she left off.

Not much farther into the song, something hilarious and tragic happened. Right in the middle of the song, Madame Carlotta's voice croaked. It was a croak heard throughout the entire theatre.

She croaked more and more until she finally realized that her voice was gone. In the middle of all the commotion, the great chandelier drooped down as a dark figure hung from it. It yelled, "She is singing to bring down the chandelier!"

Carlotta burst off of the stage. Monsieur Andre stepped in front of the now-closed curtain and stumbled, "Well…Ladies and gentlemen…We, um, seem to be having some minor difficulties with tonight's performance. We will continue in 10 minutes…and Mlle Daae will play the role of the Countess. Please bear with us…For now we leave you with the ballet from Act III of tonight's opera."

The crowd applauded, and after Monsieur Andre shuffled off-stage, the curtain opened to a new set, and the ballet began.

As expected, the ballerinas had no idea what was going on, and the beginning of the ballet was a mess. However, they picked it up after a while, and all went well…for a bit.

That was when the third shock of the night occurred. It started with the lights on the stage dimming and flickering, while a sole spotlight hit the centre of the curtain. In it was a figure who seemed to be sneaking up behind one of the stagehands, with a Punjab lasso in his hand. The lights returned to normal. A few seconds later, the lights flickered again, and the lasso-wielding figure roped his weapon around the stagehand's neck and hung him. Gasps and shrieks came from the crowd. Yet again, the lights returned to normal, but suddenly the body of Joseph Buquet, one of the stagehands, dropped from the area above the stage. The lasso was still around his neck.

Screams from the ballerinas and the audience filled the theatre, and Alexandre grabbed my hand.

"Come, this is no place to be right now." He said to me, and led me quickly down to his lair. Because of all the commotion in the opera house, he took me down yet another path.

I didn't dare speak a word, but I was scared and confused. What had just happened up there? Surely it was the works of the Opera Ghost. But why was the Opera Ghost so angry? And why was Alexandre so tense?

My hand hurt, for he was practically dragging me behind him. He was walking so fast, and he grasped my hand so hard. I let out a small cry as we reached the lair.

From the momentum and Alexandre's sudden release of my hand, I was thrown to the ground. I put my hand out to break my fall, resulting in a jolt of pain up to my shoulder.

Hardly knowing what was happening anymore, I choked up with tears. I could see Alexandre's back to me. He turned around slowly and met my gaze.

I must have been a pitiful sight. My cheeks were tear-stained, and I was on the ground, holding my hurting arm with my healthy one. I sniveled and cried, "Why did you bring me here? What just happened?"

Alexandre slightly softened, and he walked over and knelt beside me. He picked up my injured arm gently, and I whimpered slightly. Slowly, he helped me stand up, which I was grateful for. He led me to the bed that I had slept in just a few days ago. He swept me off my feet lightly, and set me in the bed.

All I could do is watch his motions. He knelt next to the bed and sighed.

"I think it is time for me to tell you a story; the story of why I live here." He said slowly.


	11. The Story of Torment

Chapter 12

A few hours later, I awakened just like before, my angel sitting a few feet away. I remembered the tale he had told me not long before. Afterwards, he had sung me to sleep. What a heavenly voice he had! It was no wonder he had given me the gift of song.

Pieces of the story came together in my mind. It went like this:

Alexandre and his elder brother, Erik, both share a facial deformity. They were bickering one day because of a reason lost to memory, when they smelled smoke, and realized the house they lived in with their mother was burning. They ran outside, still furious with each other, but then they realized that their mother was still inside. Trying to be competitive, they both sprinted inside to save their mother. Alexandre helped her out the window, because the hallway had collapsed behind him. Erik was unlucky enough to have been behind Alexandre, and a large burning board scratched his entire face, destroying it. While Alexandre was trying to find a way out of the house, a window burst, sending shards of glass towards him. Cut very badly, he was hit by something, making his injury worse. Luckily for Alexandre, only his left side of his face was affected.

When the two brothers reunited, bleeding quite terribly (Alexandre remembered seeing Erik's white shirt completely soaked with blood), they escorted their unconscious mother to a nearby abandoned cottage. When she awakened, she was terrified of her two children, and the damage done to them. She couldn't even look at her own two children.

Not long after, their mother turned into a thief, stealing from every store and market in town. She was never caught. One day, she brought home two plain white masks. Enraged, Erik threatened to brutally murder her. Alexandre, however, quietly refused.

For the months to come, they became closer to their mother, and actually wore the masks (even though they felt like fools) for their mother's sake. After a while, however, their mother died of a terrible fever. Alexandre and Erik were left alone, with nothing but the cottage.

Knowing they wouldn't be able to live long on their own, they sold themselves to a travelling circus as freaks. They lived like that, unhappily, for quite a while. Then, one day, Erik used a rope to strangle their "master". So they ran away with a young ballerina from the opera who had seen the commotion.

She brought them to the Paris Opera House, and brought them under the grand opera, where a lake and river system lay. This girl happened to be Madame Giry in her youth.

For years, the two brothers have lived under the opera house. Their success is due to Erik terrorizing the opera as the famous "Opera Ghost". Everyone who works for the theatre company knows about the Opera Ghost. They really do think he's some sort of specter, when in reality, he's just a fiery-tempered man making a living off of fear.

Alexandre always felt terrible for living this way, but it is how it is. They have lived like this for 10 years. I had to think about it for a bit, but that means that Alexandre is 17 years old, while Erik is 29 years old. That is all I know of their story.

I realized that I had been reviewing the tale in my mind for quite some time, so I snapped back into reality.

Slowly, I sat up and asked Alexandre, "Why did you tell me that story earlier?"

I'm sure it was strange to see me so suddenly animated, which is probably why he seemed slightly shocked at my question. He replied, "It is because Erik…is in love with Christine. The trouble is, she loves the Vicomte de Chagny. Erik was so angered that he told me that I am never to see you again, because he wants me to share in his misery…"

It felt like every hope, every dream, and every thought in me shattered at once. Was I still asleep, dreaming? I sincerely hoped so, but my mind screamed at me that this all was real. I managed to say through threatening tears, "But…will you please promise…to visit me… once in a while? If you don't…I shall never forgive you…But I still love you." With that, I got up and dashed back to the opera house, leaving my angel behind. I could hear the sound of glass breaking as I ran as hard as I could.


	12. A Sister Is More Comfort Than You Need

Chapter 13

I wiped the tears from my face, and walked once again to the ballet dormitories. I found Christine waiting for me, looking strangely delighted and worried.

"Alina! I was so terribly scared! I thought you were hurt in the commotion last night." She said to me, looking me up and down. "…Your eyes are red. Are you upset about something?"

I couldn't answer. I just hugged a surprised Christine, and cried silently. She sat down on her bed, and I followed.

Finally, I was able to say, "I think it would be best if we could talk out in the gardens."

Christine and I walked through the small but tranquil gardens behind the opera house. There was a statue of an angel in the centre of the neatly-kept rose garden, which we sat under.

"Christine…yes, I am very upset. My angel…is leaving." I said quietly.

She didn't seem to understand. I told her about the masked brothers, and of how Erik loves her…She seemed hardly phased by all of it, while my heart ached with every beat. Christine said nothing, she simply held me in her arms like a mother and murmured soothing nothings to me.

We sat in the gardens for hours, talking about anything and everything that came to mind. She talked quite a bit of Raoul, who she is to be married to in 8 months' time. Apparently, at the ending of Il Muto last night, the great chandelier fell and injured a few people. I had no doubt it was Erik's doing.

Christine seemed disgusted that Erik was in love with her, and I could understand that. She was perfection personified, and he was imperfection personified. They were polar opposites in every way.

We walked back inside when we realized that night was falling. There were no performances to be held that night because of the accident with the chandelier. Instead, I slept a dreamless sleep. Life dragged on like that for 6 months.


	13. Reunion, Masquerade, and Notes

((This might be a bit scatter-brained. I wrote these parts over the course of a few months. By the way, you can't even imagine how much I LOATHE writing scenes with Alina and Alexandre. Way too awkward for my taste, which is why she goes into random fits of French. No translator used. Enjoy your Reunion/Masquerade/Notes chapter!))

Chapter 14

During those long 6 months, my angel seldom visited me. He was worried that Erik would find out he was still seeing me. However, during that time, the "Opera Ghost" seemed to almost vanish from memory. Everyone was occupied with gearing up for the grand masquerade to be held on the eve of the New Year.

I had been keeping myself quite busy to stray my mind from Alexandre. I had become intrigued with the costumes of the operas, and how they were made. One of the seamstresses who worked in the costume department agreed to teach me to sew, and she was assisting me in making my own dress for the masquerade. It was beautiful when it was finished; it had a deep blue bodice that faded to a bright pink tulle skirt. The day it was finished, I held it close and walked to the ballet dormitories, twirling and spinning every once in a while. I was sure to be a belle of the ball!

That day was absolutely grand for me. It was the last opera performance of the season before a few months' break. After that night's showing of "Faust," Christine and I hurried to her dressing room to change. Christine planned to celebrate with Raoul, while I had other plans.

With Christine gone, I twirled around the dressing room excitedly, knowing exactly where I was going tonight. After my outburst of joy, I simply waited, humming "The Jewel Song" from that night's performance.

I walked towards the floor-length mirror at the back of the room, and admired my appearance, something I rarely did. My hair's loose fiery curls seemed to have an extra bounce to them tonight. The shining blue-green gems that were my eyes glittered in the dim light.

I said softly, "_I may actually be beautiful!_"

A voice that I knew all too well answered back, "You have always been beautiful, but you only now notice it."

With that, my angel appeared behind the mirror, just like before. I was not frightened as I had been months ago. Repeating the motions of before, I took my angel's hand as the mirror's glass magically disappeared.

Our eyes met, and I felt a jolt of emotion. I finally gathered my thoughts, but all I could manage to say was, "I missed you."

A slight smile played on Alexandre's lips, and he replied, "As did I, but this is no place to talk. _Viens_."

So we descended in silent bliss together to the strange lair. Although we did not speak, our eyes spoke thousands of words to each other. Perfect serenity.

After we had arrived, I broke that silence lightly. I whispered to myself, _"Moments de calme, ces m'effrayer…"_

Softly, Alexandre replied, "There is no reason to be afraid of silence! You are just accustomed to the loud, bustling noises of the opera."

He was right. Nothing had ever been this silent, not since Father had died. Since then, I had been exposed to deafening echoes of every motion, and it just seemed _normal._ I simply nodded to express my agreement.

After a while, we caught up with what had happened since the time we last saw each other, a time of about 2 months. Apparently Erik had seen Christine and Raoul expressing their love for one other, which deeply angered him. He was so enraged that he broke the chain that held the great chandelier in place, and laughed as it fell to the ground onto the audience. I had been down in the lair at the time (it was during Il Muto!), so I wasn't able to witness it myself. After catching up, there was nothing more to speak of.

"It really is quite cold down here," I said, suddenly noticing the chilly December air. "I simply can not believe you can stand it!"

Alexandre nodded slightly and responded, "Yes, it is, but I'm not the one wearing their dressing gown, now am I?"

I looked down, finally noticing that yes, indeed, I was in my dressing gown! I had completely forgotten.

I could feel my face getting warm, and I started, "That is quite true, but…" Feeling as if there were a pair of eyes staring through me from behind, I stopped mid-sentence. A chill tinkled down my spine, but I dismissed it. After all, I was four stories underneath the opera house, there could be anything down here.

Instead of finishing my sentence, I toyed with one of the small decorative flowers that lined the sleeves of my gown. It reminded me, somehow, of the dress I had made for the grand masquerade…The masquerade that was to be held tomorrow night!

After that, for whatever reason, I asked Alexandre to accompany me to the masquerade, to which he agreed. He released me back to the opera house to give me some time to sleep.

The next morning left me even more excited for the masquerade then I ever thought I'd be. Just think, it was to be the year 1882! What a glorious year it would be…

I spent all day making sure I looked absolutely perfect! Hours before the masquerade was to begin, I tapped my black, heeled boots on the tiled floor of Christine's dressing room. Christine was dressing on the other side of the room, behind a partition.

After she emerged, she smiled and said, "You sure do have a lot of energy! Be sure not to use it all up before midnight."

I nodded quickly and responded, "I just can't help myself! This is the first year I've been allowed to attend the masquerade!"

"Well, I hope you enjoy yourself tonight. I will be with Raoul tonight…Find us if you need anything." With that, there was a knock at the door. Christine continued hurriedly, "That must be him now! Have a wonderful night, Alina…Stay safe!" She stumbled out the door in her large, light-pink gown. Raoul nodded to me, and I waved my hand in return. Christine and the Vicomte walked away, out of my sight. I got up and closed the door behind them.

All I needed to do was finish up my outfit with accessories, and I would be ready. I picked up and put on, in order; a pair of long white gloves, a pearl necklace, my favorite earrings, a blue eye-mask, and to top it all off, a small silver tiara with dark-pink accents. I gave myself one last look in the mirror. Why, I looked like a princess!

I had to discreetly make my way to the deserted wing of the opera house amongst hundreds of people. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice as I slipped through the crowds. Alexandre and I met when I was halfway down the swirling staircase. Together, we went to the grand ball.

I couldn't even begin to explain how amazing the party was. Everyone was dancing, drinking, swirling, and twirling merrily. However, at the stroke of midnight, the very first second of the new year, something happened that would break the atmosphere.

Down from the staircase came a frightening figure, like a skeleton in regal clothing. (I believe the costume was modeled after The Red Death.) He held a staff in one hand with a skull on top, and in the other he held what seemed like a gift of some sort. The atmosphere had transformed from gay and merry to tense and ominous. I could even tell that Alexandre sensed something wrong. The entire room was dead silent, as if Death had flung itself upon the crowd.

Suddenly, the skeleton questioned, "Why so silent, good messieurs?"

Nobody dared make a sound. I could tell from the expressions of those around me that this must be the famous Opera Ghost. He even had "death's head". My mind reeled as I remembered that the Opera Ghost isn't a "ghost" at all! Erik!

All my thoughts turned to rage as that imbecile waltzed down the steps, questioning the very quality of the opera. Finally he threw the gift he held to the managers, claiming that they must perform his opera, which was in the box. He mentioned that the starring role was given to "Christine Daae". He spat the words like an insult.

Seemingly on command, the girl herself stepped forward to face Erik. He wrenched a necklace from her neck as he yelled, "Your chains are still mine! YOU WILL SING FOR ME!" He then disappeared in a shroud of fire and smoke.

The party had been planned to continue for another 2 hours, but half the guests left after that strange happening. I said my good-night to Alexandre, who seemed enraged…That only led to me believing my theory that Erik had just shown himself to the company.

If we were to perform that opera, we were all doomed.

The following morning was slightly chaotic. Everybody could hear Madame Carlotta's screams of rage. It was surely about the casting of the strange opera. Christine rushed down to the main foyer, and I followed.

As soon as we entered, Carlotta shrieked, "This is all her fault! I know she's behind this!"

Monsieur Firmin replied, "We cannot change the casting, Signora. Mlle Daae holds the leading role. You, however, were completely left out."

"This is complete idiocy! I am the company's prima donna! My contract entitles me to every leading role!" She said angrily.

I spoke up, "Madame, you don't understand. We are dealing with a murderer's opera. As crazy as it seems, it's true. Would you rather put all our lives on the line for one silly role?"

Carlotta's nose flared and she snapped, "Little girls are to be seen, not heard! Besides, what do you know about this infernal opera? You're just a silly chorus girl. Or are you going to grow up to overthrow a diva, like your sister?"

I sighed and shook my head. The true madness began when Madame Giry handed a letter to Monsieur Andre, but was forced to read it anyway. Everybody started talking and shouting at once.

Christine finally screamed at the top of her lungs, "If you don't stop, I think I'll go mad!" It was strange. I had never heard her yell before.

Luckily, she calmed down and begged the managers, "Please, messieurs! I don't want the role…but I have to take it for all our sakes! But I know he'll take me…Then he will always be there, singing songs in my head!"

Everybody but me looked at Christine like she had just gone insane. The same way I looked at her months ago when she told me she believed in the Angel of Music.

Sadly, all the managers could reply was, "We don't know how to help."

Christine pushed open the door to the outside world and ran. I didn't know what to do, so I followed her. I could feel how much she loathed the coming of this opera. The Phantom's opera.


End file.
